The Making Of A Fallen Angel
by Drugstore Cowboy
Summary: The story of how a young Galactic Union soldier named Paul Miles was turned from a man with good intentions to a powermad psychotic known only as Vicious Rated PG13 for graphic war violence and language. Reviews please, I want to know how I'm doing.
1. Sand and Blood

Chapter 1

Sand and Blood

The war on Titan had raged for three years now. The history of how the war

originated it was a long and bloody one. Titan, the fourth moon of Jupiter was

nothing more than a gigantic Iron Oxide desert. It's original inhabitance had

been Killimar religious separatists that had moved from Jupiter to escape

oppression from the population. Not long after they had set up there initial

colonies on Titan, a vast amount of resources, in the form of fossil fuels and

Titanium ore had been discovered by a survey team from Earth. It was only a

matter of time before the Inner Planetary Trade Consortium moved in. This sudden

intrusion by the IPTC was not viewed with great favor by the Killmar separatists

and random terrorist bombings soon escalated to all-out war between the Killmar

separatists and the IPTC. For the most part the Killmar were blamed for starting

the war, but the IPTC (A formidable economic and military power in there own

right) was blamed for escalating it to a full-scale armed conflict.

The fighting had gone on between the IPTC and the Killmar for almost six

months before the Galactic Union decided to intervene on grounds of Genocide on

the part of the IPTC. The Killmar were for the most part a peaceful group, but

as always there were it extremist sects who had started bombing mining outposts

that were the property of the IPTC. The real trouble had started when a group of

Killmar had assembled in Jericho city for a protest and a detachment of IPTC

soldiers fired on them killing 139 protestors. The Killmar responded with a

mortar attack on a mining facility, killing 13 IPTC soldiers and an unknown (but

assumed high) number of civilian workers. Within two months of the mortar attack

by the Killmar the IPTC had brought there troop strength on titan from about

3,000 to just under 19,000 combat ready grunts, as well as maintained a sizeable

contingent of armor and air support. Facing insurmountable numbers, the Killmar

began to fall to the IPTC in droves. When the death count reached 10,000 the

Glactic Union had

made the decision to intervene by deploying 3,000 troops to Titan.

After a year the size of the Glactic Union's military presence was well over

150,000 troops and the IPTC had increased there numbers to about 75,000 troops.

The Killmar began to shrink into oblivion, mostly from casualties inflicted by

the IPMC (Most of these deaths were non-military, but rather civilians). One

day, without warning a Glactic Union observation post came under attack by a

combination of IPTC and Killamr extremists. At first the Glactic Union pushed it

off as awkward timing on the part of the IPTC and the Killmar, but soon after

other outposts, firebases and logistics stations reported similar occurrences.

Without warning the IPCM and the Killmar separatists had announced an alliance,

and would cooperatively work to remove the Glactic Unions military presence from

Titan. This move was greatly

unexpected and lead to the deaths of 2,000 Glactic Union soldiers in one year.

With this new revelation the Glactic union was forced to bring its standing army

of 150,000 troops to just shy of 300,000 in six months. Titan was now a

full-fledged military conflict, the largest the galaxy had seen since the

Ziggurat uprisings on Earth 35 years earlier.

Titan clamed an average of 17,000 lives a year, mostly IPTC and Glactic Union

foot soldiers. Combat on Titan was strange, quickly switching from extreme range

500 meter firefights to point blank room clearing operations and hand-to-hand

combat. The IPTC, while well-equipped, could not compete with the sheer numbers

of the Galctic Union. As for the Killmar they chose to fight with guerilla

tactics, staging stealthy run-and-gun ambushes instead of the open firefights

that the Glactic Union greatly favored over urban operations. Your average

Glactic Union grunt was little more than a trained chimp with a rifle, but when

it was 700 trained chimps with rifles, things started to look bleak for the

defending force. Casualties for the IPTC went

down and gradually climbed for the Glactic Union as they took to the offensive.

There eventual goal was to seize control of Titan from the IPTC Killmar alliance

and place it under a military government, but it was predicted to be a long and

hard fight that there was much of a chance of losing as winning. This war, for

all of its death was placed mostly on Galactic Union infantry, who bore the

brunt of the fighting. The effects on human psyche were horrific and it was

common for soldiers to be sent home due to strange combinations of schizophrenia

and PTSD. Those that went home were never the men that they once were.

This story is about a man, a man named Paul Miles from Mars who joined the

Glactic Unions army believing in the cause, and leaving Titan as something that

he never wanted to become.


	2. Arival

Chapter 2

Arrival

Private First Class Paul Miles had been stationed at the Serengeti rear base

for almost a month; it was his initial receiving post after he had left basic

training. He had received his transfer orders two weeks ago and he was now on

his way to the Sampson Forward base. The Sampson FWDB was located about 3 miles

outside of Apollo city, a relatively friendly place for Galactic Union soldiers.

It had a population of a bout 400,000 civilians and it was estimated that only

60,000 or so of them supported the Killmar ITPC alliance. There had been a

rather nasty firefight a few days ago between Galactic Union soldiers and

Killmar militants. The garrison of Sampson had

been in the thick of it all and gotten shot to shit in the process. The

closest reinforcements that were readily available to D company were from the

Serengeti rear base. The transport arrived at about 11:00 PM Titan Quadrant

Four time.

The Mark 3 light combat transport (Nicknamed Skimmers by Aviation) traveled

quickly along the surface of the Titan badlands, a place where the Iron Oxide

dust had been hardened into a gigantic steel plate by nuclear tests 90 years

earlier. The levels of radioactivity were considered safe by scientific

standards, but most men worried about there gonads when they were moving about

the general vicinity. Paul's transfer orders centered around a batch of

reinforcements that were destined for D company; that was the local garrison at

the Sampson FWDB. He had collected his gear a day earlier and had gotten

on the ship with his supposedly light-weight, 95-pound combat pack.

Skimmers moved at incredible speeds, upwards of 200 MPH very close to the

surface. This led itself to very effective means of quickly moving troops about,

but less effective crashes, which often led to the death of four or more

passengers. The sides were open and were armed with two .50 caliber machineguns.

The current contents of the rickety craft consisted of 42 troops and ammunition

for the base. Also contained on the craft were some very expensive

communications computers and a few heavy weapons. Paul wasn't familiar with

any of the other soldiers on the ship and he figured them to be fresh out of

basic training. While Paul had been on Titan for about a month, the closest he

had come to combat was the passing of what was left of the so-called meatloaf

that the mess hall was oh-so fond of serving.

The badlands slowly ended and the surface turned to the brownish Iron Oxide

deserts that made up about 75 of Titan. Off in the distance, Paul could see the

Sampson Forward base. It started as a black spot off in the horizon and slowly

progressed to a larger black dot with a notable shape to it. Without warning the

pilot of the Skimmer looked back from the cockpit into the cargo area and

shouted to the troops.

"Get your shit in order. We'll be arriving at the Sampson Forward Base in two

minutes."

Paul heeded the advice of the Pilot and looked to the seat next to him. In

it, instead of a person, was a large pack with a metal frame. He stood up in the

Skimmer and attempted to put his pack on, but the Skimmer hit a sand dune and

rocked violently (That was part of the reason they were named "Skimmers"). He

made the decision to put his bag on after they had landed. Paul himself was a

very outgoing kind of fellow. He was born and raised in a rough section of Mars,

but despite this he maintained his sunny disposition to life. He had fallen in

love with a woman named Julia at a young age and had gone to Titan with her

reluctant blessing. He was hoping to make enough money so that they could move

off of Mars, to someplace where they could settle down with each other, all he

had to do was survive. He had heard the stories, but never had he expected what

he was going to see in the next two years.

The Skimmer began to slow down and maneuver for landing at the base. Miles

attempted to don his pack once more only to be met with similar difficulties as

before. The Skimmer was now hovering over the landing pad and began to drop

slowly onto the pad. It finally made contact and the pilot once more stuck his

head into the cargo bay.

"Sampson Forward Base, last stop. Now get the fuck off my ship!"

Paul was suddenly alerted by the man's cantankerousness and quickly jumped

to his feet. He tried to disembark from the ship, and now regretted his decision

to not put on his pack earlier. He got onto the line of men that were

disembarking via the rear ramp and struggled with his pack. He crashed into

several others and received less than polite words from the others. He finally

got his pack on totally and began to shuffle in order with the rest of the

grunts. He was almost off of the ship when he realized that he had forgotten his

rifle. He quickly turned around and shoved his way out of the line, receiving

more blessings from his comrades and made his way back to the seat

where he was before. He bent over and grabbed his rifle where it had been

propped up with the stock folded.

The rifle that most men on Titan carried was a Heckler & Koch G36E. It was a

light weight assault rifle made of mostly polymer compounds. It fired 5.56x45mm

NATO fed from a 30 round magazine. It had a 1.5x and 4.5x combination sight and

featured semi-auto, three round burst, and full automatic fire options. Its

barrels could be quickly changed to compact or carbine modes, but these were

special issue mostly given to members of the Titan Special Forces Unit. It also

had a folding stock for purposes of compaction. In basic training Miles had

qualified "Expert" with his G36 and was regarded as a slightly better shot than

most others, but came nowhere near the skill of Snipers on Titan.

Paul returned to the end of the now small line and resumed exiting the craft,

with his rifle this time. He stepped out onto the sandy blacktop and looked

around. Most of the structures were canvas tents, but there were a few permanent

buildings. One of them had long whip aerials coming from it and he figured that

to be the Comms building. Miles looked around in slight confusion as he wondered

where to go. He stepped over to a man standing near a garbage incinerator,

pouring the contents of a metal trash bin into it. Miles spoke to him in a

slightly nervous, but nonetheless confident tone.

"Excuse me..." spoke Miles, the man turned to look at him and spoke back.

"Oh shit, another black booter..." He mumbled to himself. "Yeah, what the fuck

do you want?"

Miles was slightly offended but maintained his polite attitude. "I'm

looking for D company, third platoon. Do you know where I could find them?

"Yeah, go straight that way and make the first left, then go three tents down

and that's them."

"Thank you." Responded Miles

"Any time FNG, and don't get shot on your way there!"

Miles walked away from the man, who was now laughing and started down the

straight away that he had been instructed to go down, he made the first left as

he had been told and walked three tents down. It seemed like the garrison tents

went on forever. He reached his supposed destination and looked at a pathetic

wooden sign staked out in front of the tent, it read.

"Dog Company, Third Platoon, home of Das Whopper" There was also a string of

7.62 hanging from it

Miles thought that to be a strange sign but he entered the tent anyway. He

pushed the flap aside and stood at the entrance. The tent was loud and

rambunctious; the entire Platoon was having a general good time. There were men

playing cards and passing around bottles of Whiskey. The thick smell of

cigarette smoke filled the tent and Miles coughed a little. As he did, the noise

slowly died down, and men began to stare at him. More and more slowly brought

their gaze to Paul, threatening him like he was from Mars (The fact that he was

helped little). Soon the entire tent was silent and gazing at Paul. He could do

nothing but stare back at them. The awkward silence lasted for several seconds

until one of the soldiers who was sitting down smoking a cigarette and playing

cards broke the silence. He took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it

between his index and middle fingers; he then cupped his hands around his mouth

and yelled.

"Pretty boy! Look at the black booter, he's got an even shave!"

The entire tend erupted in laughter and then resumed their previous state of

rowdiness. Miles did nothing but swallow his dignity and move to the first

available cot that he saw.


	3. Getting Aquainted

Chapter 3

Getting Aquainted

Paul began unpacking his gear, his sleeping space was nothing more than a green canvas cot with a small table that had a drawer in it. He looked to the cot next to him, the table was cluttered with small accouterments such as 12 gauge shells, sun glasses, empty pistol magazines, and some strange mechanical looking things that he could not identify. There was a Heckler & Koch 21E leaning against the table, the 21E was the support weapon of the Titan forces, a light machine gun, it fired 7.62x51 NATO and had a dyzing fire rate of almost 2100 RPM. They were designed to be carried by two people but they could be used by one if the situation called for it. Miles had no idea who the cot belonged to but he would soon find out. He shifted his glance back to the table and he identified the unknown objects as extra receiver/firing pin combinations for the machinegun. He moved his attentions back to his pack.He placed his rifle against the table, like every one else had. He the porceded to unsnap the top ruck straps and rolled his blanket out onto the cot. He then took out his folded night time jacket and stuffed it under his bed. He placed his helmet on the table that belonged to his cot. He opened the smaller front pouch and took out a small book and pencil that he placed in the drawer. He was getting ready to take off his WEB belt when suddenly, the owner of the machine gun and cot next to him walked over.

He was a monster of a man, he stood at least 6'5 and must have weighed 250 pounds, most of which appeared to be muscle. He had extremely short, bordering on bald black hair and a large scar across his left cheek. He hadn't shaved in days and had no shirt on. Needles to say, he was quit an intimidating sight to Paul. He looked straight at Paul and spoke to him, his voice was deep and commanding.

"Hey black booter, were you eyeing my sunglasses?" Paul froze.

"I asked you a question FNG. Were you eyeing my sunglasses?" Paul continued to be still

"I think you were." Suddenly the man reached behind his back and drew a USP tucked into his waste band and pointed it straight at Paul's head. Paul suddenly felt sick and turned a shade of white that most humans never get to see he was completely frozen. The massive mountain of man continued to stare at him for a few seconds when he suddenly broke out into a smile and started laughing histeriacly.

"Ahhahahaha, guys! Did you see the shade of pale he turned? Fucking Christ these Black Booters have NO sense of humor!"

Miles found absolutely nothing humorous in this situation. He nearly fainted from the shock of it all and felt like he was going to vomit. The man continued to laugh loudly and eventually calmed himself enough to tuck the pistol back into his waste band. Paul noticed that the man had a First Seargent shevron on his flack vest and Paul worked it out of himself to salute the man. The man put out his hand and pushed Paul down he spoke once more.

"My name is Jack Gillman, people around here call me Animal and so can you." He put his hand out in a handshake and Paul returned almost wincing under the mans grip.

"First thing, don't slute me. In fact, don't salute anyone because when you do you do nothing but make them a target for Snipers. And I don't want my brains splattered on a wall 15 feet away." Paul nodded in acknowledgment.

"Second thing, make yourself at home. The guys here will give you a hard time for about a month, don't take it personally. Third thing, clean your rifle three times a day, unless you want it jamming up on you at a bad time." Miles continued to nod under the massive size of the man. It brought him some comfort to know that this bear was on his side, but not enough to get rid of the nausea. The man was about to speak again when suddenly he diverted his glance to someone behind him. There was another man behind him, with short blonde hair, for some unknown reason he was going through Pauls bag.

" Steve, what the fuck are you doing?" Said Animal

"I'm going through the new guys bag, whats it look like I'm doing?" Replied the man in an annoyed tone.

"Why are you going through his shit?" Asked Animal

"Because I need new boots, and I'm going to take his, mine are worth shit right now."

"Steve, get out of his bag and keep your shitty foot ware to your shitty self." Said animal in a commanding tone,

"Hey Jack, how bout you fuck off?" Said the gangly looking man in a serious tone.

"Hey cunt rag, how bout I rip you a new asshole?" Said Animal back in an even more serious tone

The man looked at Animal, also dwarfed by his size and the looked at Paul with a menanacing glance. He made a grunt of contempt and then walked off to a cot a little ways down the tent.

"Don't mind him" Spoke Animal "He's short" And indeed he was, he stood only 5'11, and he left Animal and Paul alone with good reason, he diden't seem to be in the good graces of Animal.

Animal sat down on his cot and reached for his machine gun. He took it by the handle and placed it in his lap. He took a bullet out of the drawer and sued it to push in a pin that made the machine gun split in half. He hen took out a part and placed in on the table. It looked exactly like the others, except it was blackened and scratched up from 60,000 rounds of usage. More and more and more often your weapon would need cleaning until it just saw so much usage that it was necessary for a full replacement of the interior workings. Machine guns saw more use, so naturally they required a lot more matience. Paul was almost done unpacking his things, he looked over to Animal who was now working on his gun with a half burnt cigar in his mouth. He opened the drawer in his night stand and took out an old Zippo oil lighter. He lit the cigar, took a big puff off of it and went back to his gun. Seing Animal light the cigar reminded him that he hadn't smoked in almost a week. He thought of bumming a cigarette from someone, but decided that it might be better to keep his head down for a little while. He dove back into his almost empty bag and extracted a small black box. He placed the box on his bed and opened it. It contained the NBC-241 mask that was issued to troops on Titan. Usage of Chemical weapons was forbidden by planetary pact, as such the Galactic Union and IPTC didn't use this. However, the Killmar would make attacks with tear gas and sometimes nerve agents, all though the latter was extremely rare. Paul was just tarting to take his WEB belt off again when a man walked into the tent. Suddenly the entire platoon stopped what they were doing and looked towards them man, saluting him. Paul quickly took to saluting him. The man looked over the tent and then gave the "At Ease" command. The man looked at Paul and started to walk towards him. He stopped in front of Paul and looked straight at him.

"You must be my Black Booter. I'm Lutenet Asta I'll be your Commanding Officer." He didn't wear normal officers clothes, instead, he looked like one of the NCO's. Paul figured it to be for purposes of blending in with the crowd, so he didn't become a target for snipers. It was rather smart, most of the officers Paul had met preferred to shake there dicks around and look all important, all that did was piss off NCO's and attract the wrong kind of attention to you. The Lutenet spoke to Paul again.

"Two standing orders in this Platoon. One, don't salute me in the field. Two, clean your rifle. Understood?" Paul nodded in response.

"Good!" Replied the Lutenet. He the walked back to the front of the tent and proceeded to stand on a box.

"All right ladies, listen up!" The tent fell silent and every one brought there attentions to Asta.

"Allright, we're going back into Appolo city. We almost had the IPTC troops pushed out of the area, but word from Intelligence says that they just brought in 3 companies of Reinforcements." The entire tent erupted in loud noises of disapproval. Animal shouted at the Lutenet

"What the fuck do they want us to do about it!" The company's 23 under strength as it is!" He yelled

"That not withstanding we won the distance lotto, and were the only combat ready troop deployable in the next six hours. Now I want the complaining to stop, get you shit in order, get some sleep and I want every one in the breifing room in three hours! Is that clear?" The troops responded with a loud "Sir, yes sir!"

"Dismissed!"

The platoon went about there ways, but in a much more grim way. Men began separating from there card games and going to the sleeping areas. They began to gather gear up, loading magazines, putting greands into pouches. Paul knew it was comming, and nothing could have prepared him for it.


	4. Departure

The briefing had taken only twenty minuets, and Paul hadn't payed much attention to it. He was too busy trying to fight back the nausea from the thought of exactly going into combat, to be shot at, to be wanted dead by another man. His mind raced with thoughts of what could go wrong; he kept thinking of what might happen to him. His attention was snapped from his inner horrors by the seventy five or so troops standing up, singling the end of the brief.

As he stood up , he viewed the under strength company with a curious glance. What was defined as the combat workhorse of the Galactic Union army was the Combat Company. It consisted of exactly one hundred men, broken down into a command detachment of six, composed of one Captain, Two Lieutenants, and three Sergeants which served as a sort of executive bodyguard for the officers, one to each. The command served as the directors of a company's worth of men, their responsibilities included fire direction, snooper calls, keeping the higher ups informed of the situation, and upon occasion running around like hogs on ice. Also attached to the company were two, two man teams labeled as "direct target interdiction support teams", informally known as Snipers, responsibilities included long range fire, deep-deployment recon, and being generally scary. Then there was the meat and potatoes of the company, the three combat platoons.

A combat platoon was a nasty creature, built of thirty men who would like nothing more than to rain on your parade. Within the platoon there were three squads of ten men, further divided into fire-teams of five men, armed with four G36 Rifles, and a 21E support gun. The infantrymen of Dog Company were regarded as the nastiest sons-of-bitches ever to slap iron in the fourth quadrant of Titan. Some of the members had been around so long they remember the battle of Grendsla, some had been around so long they remember first being deployed to Titan three years ago.

As the company filed out of the briefing room, inevitably back to the green canvas tent to gather there gear, Paul noticed a group of men standing off to the side, specifically, five men and one woman all wearing civilian clothes with tactical vests over them. They were using a holographic map display to plan something, an operation perhaps. Just as Paul left the building, he noticed the shortened barrels on the rifles, signaling members of the Titan Special Operation Unit.

The return to the tent was uneventful, once inside, the men began gathering their gear, loading rifles, and making sure they were well prepared for the storm that was about to come. Paul checked his own gear, paying special attention to the amount of ammunition he was bringing and the condition of his rifle. During his packing he noticed that the Lutenet had entered the room and announced that they would be departing in about half an hour, and that they should finish packing there gear and prepare for departure. Paul started rooting through his things, stashed in various locations. He packed ruck with his gas-mask, sleeping gear, night jacket, and other extraordinarily heavy things when Animal came over.

"Weeping Christ on the crucifix, the fuck you packing' all that shit for Paul, your going into combat, not camping." Paul looked up to Animal, who had a look on his face of both understanding, and genuine curiosity. Paul wondered if Animal had been around so long, he had forgotten what it was like to be new to the game.

"Listen Paul, I can give you a good piece of advice. You see Norton next to you." Animal pointed to a man with brown hair, now almost blonde from the scorching sun.

"Norton over there has been around for a long time, now he ain't much for talking, but you pay attention to what he does, and I promise you will learn a hell of a lot." Paul looked at the man, looked at his gear. He had nothing but the bare minimum on him, his weapons, his ammunition, about two quarts of water, his Kevlar armor, and his head gear.

Paul filed suit, totally abandoning the notion of bringing his pack. He filled two canteens with water, put on his ammo belt with his grenades, knife, and his own little first-aid kit, he donned his Kevlar, stuffed with more ammunition, and his helmet. He noticed the amazing lightness in his gear, far less than what he expected. Then without warning, he vomited.

While cleaning himself up, Animal spoke from behind him.

"Hey Paul, wana get laid?" Still bent over, and heaving a little his face contorted in a look of "What in the hell?" Paul stood up and whirled to look at Animal.

"Uh… thank you for the offer Seargent, but I have a girlfr-." Before he could finish his sentence, Animal laid two belts of 7.62mm ammo for his 21E.

"Carry that for me, will ya kid." Animal spoke, punching Paul in the shoulder, with a humongous grin on his face, obviously amused by his own little joke.

People began to notice that people we're leaving the tent, heading outside presumably to the Skimmers. Animal swung his massive weapon over his shoulder, and looked to Paul.

"Well, common the ships aren't gona' wait all day." Animal turned and made for the door, Paul ran after him, only to run into the equivalent of a brick wall as Animal stopped abruptly in front of him.

"You uh… You forget something…?" Animal asked. Paul checked over himself with both hands… he had his grenades, his pistol, his ammunition.

"Fuck me, my Rifle!" He yelled to himself, he ran back to his cot and grabbed his G36. He ran back to Animal, the belts of ammo around his neck clanging. He looked up at Animal, who had that grin on his face again. He apparently found Paul's antics quite amusing.

"Your gona need that slick…" Animal said, through a boisterous laugh.

They left the tent, and walked for the skimmers, Paul noticed the rest of the Battalion assembling to board skimmers, He hadn't realized that it was such a large operation, well over a thousand men had to be going into the City. Paul's company filed into the Skimmer, the cool interior being a refreshing change from the sweltering outdoor sun, from which Paul was sweating even though he had been exposed to it for little over five minuets. After every one had gotten packed in, the Skimmer made a dead life, and shot off for Apollo City.


	5. Catch me if you can

The Skimmer shot across the desert at the typical blinding pace, Paul hadn't been on Titan long, but he knew better than to sit right by the two side port entrances, where sand blew in fast enough to choke a man to death, right where Paul had the misfortune of sitting. He was forced to life his legs off the ground to stop the sand from getting irreversibly lodged in his boots. Suddenly, the sand stopped coming in, the Skimmer had lifted into the air, about 300 feet off the ground, preventing the sand from flowing in the passenger compartment.

In the break, some men started shifting around, moving some gear and a tarp that covered a specific seat. The shifting of the gear revealed a archaic looking CD player, heavily repaired with Olive Drab duct tape, and affixed to the passenger seat with the same. A Black man fiddled with the buttons on the front a little, and then reached behind the player to retrieve something. He came up with an odd looking Plastic case, glanced at it, and then threw it to Paul.

"Yo, chuck that out the window for me, will ya?" He bellowed across the Skimmer. Paul looked down at the case, there was an image of a blonde woman on the cover with blonde hair, below her was text that read "Mariah Carry: The best of"

"Hey, I fuckin' like Mariah Carry!" bellowed another, as of yet unidentified man holding an M24, identifying him as a sniper. The black man looked back at him, and yelled once more.

"Ya know Tabasco, if it weren't for the fact that you've killed at least 150 men, I wouldn't hesitate to call you a queer." He said with a chuckle. The other and simply pointed to him and made some sort of symbolic, brotherly gesture. Paul wondered what had just happened, but he had the feeling that it was some sort of major happening in inter-platoon politics. The Skimmer made a sudden shift, and tilted backwards a little, with the sudden change of angle, something came out of the cockpit, Paul caught it with his boot, he looked at at, and come to the frightening realization that it was indeed a Beer can that he had just caught with his boot. He had heard that the combat pilots on Titan were "high-strung, yet strangely laid back".

"Yo, Sparky, you sure your alright to drive this thing?" Yelled Animal.

"Shut your sprek hole Animal, we're coming up on Apollo now.

Paul was surprised at the little time it took to travel from the camp to the city. He knew it was about 62 Kilometers, but they mush have been going faster than he originally though. The man fussing with the CD player also looked surprised. He looked out the door, with a sense of pointless optimism that maybe, just maybe, they weren't going into direct combat with the Rebels, maybe they were just relocating displaced civilians, or something else humanitarian like that.

No such luck.

As he looked out the door, what he saw made him sick again, there were thick plooms of black smoke rising up from the street, at least a dozen or so. The skimmer took a sudden drop in altitude, doing little to help Pauls stomach. They crossed close to a burning tank wreck, clearly a Galactic Union configuration. There were dead bodies littered around, charred from the explosion of the tank. The skimmer slowed, eventually coming to a hover over an intersection, it began a slow decent, Paul wondered why they were stopping where they were. There didn't seem to be any combat at the area, and from what he understood about the briefing, most of the fighting was concentrated in the North Western sector of the City, where the IPMC had brought in the fresh reinforcements in an attempt to drive the Glactic Union out of the city. The skimmer came to a hover, about three feet over the intersection, Paul looked towards Animal.

"What are we doing here?" He asked.

"Probably a pickup for a SO team." Replied Animal matter-of-factly.

"SO?" Asked Paul

"Special Operations." Replied Animal

Paul looked outside the door and sure enough, two people, wearing the traditional blanket like, off-white canvas garb that was traditional to those on Titan, came running out of the burned and broken remains of a store. The one to come out first made a straight Sprint for the Skimmer, while the one in back followed, not at a sprint, but rather a trot, swinging there short barreled G36 around in every direction, covering there advance. The first one made it to the Skimmer reached up into the passenger compartment, shoving there rifle in Paul's Face.

"You, take this!" Much to Paul's surprise, it wasn't a Man, but in fact a woman's voice hidden behind the Shegmah covering her face. Paul took the Rifle quickly and threw it into his lap. He turned to give the woman a helping hand getting onto the carrier, but by the time he looked up the woman was already in the carrier, with the other one right behind her. The second one boarded the carrier wit ha little less finesse, whoever it was threw there rifle up onto the deck and jumped into the carrier. They both sat on the floor, backs to the cockpit, the second one scooping up there rifle as whoever it was did so. The woman yelled to the inebriated pilot to life off, the Skimmer quickly did so.

As the Skimmer lifted off, the woman removed her head wrap. Paul looked over in amazement, he had expected this horrible looking woman with scars and cuts across her face, as he was led to believe most of the Titan Special Operations Unit had. She was rather an extremely beautiful woman, she had jaw length brown hair, and striking features.

"He wasn't there!" she yelled to the back of the carrier, to a man that Paul had not noticed before.

"Sergeant, this is not the time or place to talk about your mission." The strange man yelled back. The woman looked at him like she had just been cheated, but didn't put up any further a fight. Paul looked away briefly, and realized that he still had her rifle in his hands. He looked at her cautiously.

"Sergeant, I believe this is yours." He said, passing her the scoped rifle. She received it with a passing glance and a slight "Thanks". Paul looked over at Animal, who just shrugged his shoulders and went back to what ever he was doing. Without warning, a cry came from the cockpit.

"STRIKER! HOLD ON TO YOUR ASSES!" The carrier banked suddenly, and sharply to the right, turning almost 90 degrees in one direction, sending the woman sitting on the floor hurling towards the window.

Paul still wonders what made him do what he did, at that particular time in his life, he was still rather timid, and didn't think himself capable of such feats. Without even thinking, his hands acting with a speed and precision beyond him, he unbuckled himself from the carrier seat, and made a dive for the woman., grabbing her wrist, just as she slid out the door.

In his moment of insanity, Paul failed to think that by unbuckling himself, he too would slide across the sharply banked carrier floor. His only saving grace was the large, rugged hand of Animal grabbing him by his left ankle, holding himself into the carrier with merely a seat strap. The whole thing would have perhaps looked amusing to a civilian onlooker, but to Paul, it was the most terrifying thing he could think of in existence. He looked down as the woman hung onto his wrist with hands, small arms fire tracer rounds and Striker AA rockets streaking below her. But she didn't look panicked, far from it, she merely looked determined to survive this ordeal, treating it as if it were as ordinary as eating a meal, or going shopping.

The pilot yelled from upfront "We're coming up on the drop zone, just hold on your three until we land!" The carrier leveled out a little and flew straight again, no longer turning. Paul noticed that the situation wasn't in fact that dire, that his grip on the woman was firm, and Animals grip on him was even firmer. The only X factor was the strength of the seatbelt, which seemed to be holding firmly. Paul looked down at the woman once more and said the only thing he could think of in his panicked mind.

"Hi, I'm Paul…" He blurted out. She looked up at him with a small laugh and a smile.

"I'm Electra…"

"The pilot says we just need to hold on, we should be landing shortly."

"Ok" she said with a pause "I can live with that."

Paul took a second to look around outside the carrier, he was an intersection coming, heavily fortified with GU soldiers and barricades, he presumed that was there landing point. He saw trenches on all sides of the intersection, fortified with heavy Machine Gun posts, and another Skimmer dropping off what looked to be the rest of Dog company. Paul looked back down to see how the woman was doing, she seemed fine. He yelled back to Animal.

"Animal, how ya' doing?" The response he got was less than pleasant.

"Oh, just fucking ducky, if the fall from my arm snapping off doesn't kill your stupid ass, I will when we land!" Paul looked back down at the woman.

"We'll be fine…" He yelled down to her.

And indeed they were, the Skimmer hovered over the intersection, Paul dropped the woman and she landed cat-like on her feet. Animal felt the sudden drop in weight and pulled Paul into the carrier with such force that he hit his chin on the lip of the carrier floor, nearly rendering himself unconscious. Animal stood up and walked over to him, giving him a helping hand and a look of "What in gods name possessed you to do that". Paul shrugged it off, grabbed his rifle and hoped out of the carrier. Upon landing on the street, he promptly vomited again, much to the amusement of Electra. Paul looked up from his heaving, to see Electra standing there.

"Thanks for grabing me, you must have done some crazy things to consider a move like that… how long you been here, two years or so?"

"Uh actually it's my first time into combat…" Electra looked surprised.

"Well, thank you for doing what you did Paul Miles." Paul looked up at her

"How did you know my last name? Paul asked.

"It's on your uniform dumb ass."

"Oh." Paul replied as the last of the platoon got out of the carrier. Animal walked over to him and stood there with a look of "I'm going to hit you". The woman climbed back into the carrier, assisted by her counterpart who was strangely absent. Taking a note from Electra, he looked at the tags on there uniforms. They read "Volaju" on the covered man, and "Ovilo" on Electra's uniform. Paul watched as the carrier started to lift off, Clectra standing in the door way.

"Don't get killed Paul, I might see you in my line of work one day."

"Feah… yeah right…" He muttered to himself. Looking at the figure in the ascending carrier. Without warning something flew out of the carrier, towards Paul. He caught it, the weight of it hurting him He looked in his arms to see the Womans rifle in his hands. Not knowing much about guns he didn't know what it was, or what company made it, but it looked expensive, very expensive. Paul glanced over to Animal who had a pleased look on his face, as usual.

"My grandpapy warned me about women who know how to use guns." With that he walked off, towards the crowd of soldiers waiting to be told where to set up.

Paul glanced behind him and then did a turn to look at the crowd.

The storm was still coming, and he had no idea what to do.


End file.
